


The Stone of Maghreb

by Davechicken



Series: Tales of Araby [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Human!Crowley, M/M, Pre-series backstory, human!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 12:34:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1132705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel and Crowley - human and hunters - are trying to bring down a shadowy individual known as the Collector. But in his  vast magical treasure hoard they find more than they bargained for, and things that once were secret can no longer be concealed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stone of Maghreb

Cas rounded the display shelf at speed, his feet skittering over the polished marble floor, and he grabbed at a tapestry for purchase. There was a horrible ripping sound, and he wondered what priceless artefact he'd just torn. The Collector's hoard was filled with the esoteric, the beautiful and the dangerous. He heard Crowley's distinctive yelp of 'Bollocks' from somewhere behind him as he closed in on their prey. Crowley had taken a blow to the knee in the last tousle and he was still limping from it, which meant Cas had to take the lead on this. The Collector was ruthless in his avarice, and he'd done one too many bad things in the name of art and curation for the Hunters to ignore.

He wasn't in sight when Cas turned the corner, and he flicked his head this way and that, trying to listen for sounds of footsteps or see the signs of flight. They had tracked him down at last to his stronghold - which meant he was pinned and at his most dangerous - but they hadn't accounted for how _large_ the building was inside. Cas wondered if he should wait for Crowley to catch up so they could split up and take both routes at once when he heard it.

There.

Without a second thought he clattered off in the direction of it, and when he pushed through the door the Collector was approaching a pedestal which held a large glass bell-shaped display. Inside was a stone that _rippled_ from within with a colour that hurt the eyes to look at, but also sort of felt like it wasn't even _there_ , like an absence in reality, a hole and a gap and a longing. "Get away from that," Cas growled. "Step back."

"I don't think so," the Collector snapped. He lifted up the glass covering and reached in for the stone.

Cas barrelled into him at full speed, head down like a charging bull as he shoved the other man off his feet. They went down in a painful clatter and he clamped his hand over the other's mouth to stop him casting any more spells. The Collector bit him and Cas hissed in pain, grateful when he heard Crowley enter the room with his name on his lips. 

Holding him down with his weight, Cas felt Crowley applying the cuffs and the gag, moving just enough to let him put the restraints in place. Neither of them believed in killing unless they had to, and the local coven which served double duty as the magical law enforcement had agreed to deal with him. Finally he was properly tied up, and Cas pulled back. He wiped the spit from his hand onto the Collector's shirt and smiled a thanks at Crowley.

"Don't mention it," the once-demon told him. "Now. I'll call up Lady Pretentious Name and you just catch your breath. They'll have someone around in next to no time..."

Cas nodded. "Yes. Great." He stood up and stretched. He was going to need to do some warm-downs later, to make sure he didn't seize up or ache tomorrow. Although if they got back to their nice, moderately priced hotel in the next hour or two he knew that he'd be able to rely on his partner for some double-duty exertion.

The other man pulled out his phone and started giving directions to the witch in question. Cas ignored the man staring balefully up at him and took a chance to admire the room. So many wonderful things. Most of them very dangerous. It might make sense to work out what was likely to cause more problems and confiscate or destroy them. He could probably contact Sam and do a full inventory with him and go from there. It was weeks' worth of work, even if they could find the Collector's ledger. 

And then he made the mistake of looking back to that pedestal. Now the rush of the moment was over, he could look more closely at the stone. It was roughly the size of his fist, and it was jaggedly edged as if it had been hewn straight from the surrounding rock and never cut or polished. There were flat surfaces in every direction, though, and it still had that curious property of seeming to be both a shimmering, glittering opal and a _hole_ or _gap_. Cas found himself strangely drawn to it, and he paced over. Hands on his knees he bent to put his face beside it, squinting because... were there images in it? Was it a scrying stone? Or was it something else? He'd never come across anything quite like it in all his millennia as an angel, or his few (but tumultuous) months as a human. 

His fingers ached to touch it. Just to see how it felt. Just to see if it was soapy and smooth, or dry and crumbling. Just to see if it was hot or cold. Just to...

Cas was distantly aware of the sound of his name being squawked, but that was so very far away and he brushed a finger against one of those sharp edges, feeling it _bite_ and then the world dissolved around him.

***

"What the hell is that?" 

Crowley had the Collector by the hair, his head pulled back and a sharp blade to his throat. Murder was in his eyes and voice, his amber eyes flashing with rage. "Where is Castiel? What's happened to him and how do I get him back?"

"You'll have to let me go if you want me to talk," the Collector said, a sneer on his thin, pale lips. "Or you might never see him again."

The knife pressed harder, scraping over delicate skin and making that terribly visceral noise that came just before the split. "I used to run _Hell_ , darling. I used to torture people for a living and for fun. I can break you. I can break you slowly, or I can break you quickly. I can make you wish you'd never been **born**. So you have to ask yourself if it's worth testing my resolve."

"Stronger men than you have tried," the tied man insisted.

"Have it your way..."

***

Everything seemed to _melt_ around him. All the world tunnelled down, like black tar dripping over the walls of reality and leaving nothing but that aching, hungry void under his fingertips. It was neither hot nor cold, soft nor hard. It was more like touching an emotion than an object. 

Then it was gone and Castiel found himself standing in the middle of a relatively busy market. The smell of pigs and muck was overpowering, and the _noise_ was incredible. Cas blinked in confusion. Everyone was dressed in very outdated clothes and a quick glance around showed there were no electric lines overhead. He heard horses' hooves and he wondered if he'd really been sent back in time, or if he had found one of those re-enactment places that Dean had mentioned liking. If it was a re-enactment, then the attention to detail was astounding.

Cas looked down, wondering how badly he was going to stick out, and was even further surprised to see he wasn't wearing his old clothes. Instead he had on a rather elaborate shirt, frock-coat, cloak... the works. Alarmed, he patted at his clothes trying to find pockets and instead he found a little drawstring coin purse. He tugged it open and stared inside. Old coins he didn't recognise. Well. Whatever had happened, he'd at least been given a fighting chance to survive.

"... 'ere, watch yoursel'," came a strangely-accented voice, as someone jolted his elbow.

"I am sorry," Cas said, hiding the purse back away in case someone took exception to his wealth. He thought it was wealth. It seemed like a lot of currency, and his clothing was finer than most of the people he saw around himself. 

Cas made his way to the edge of the market, dodging squabbling children and bartering housewives, wanting to find somewhere to observe and take things in properly. He found a low wooden bench and he perched on that - taking the opportunity to examine the... shoes with heels? What? Then he looked at the crowd properly and tried to come to some conclusions.

It felt real. The sounds, smells and touches all seemed to be genuine. The accents were strange, and it took him a moment to realise it was because they sounded _Scottish_. The odd kilt here and there and the abundance of pale skin and vibrant hair also backed that up. He wasn't completely sure on the era because before he'd taken an active interest in the world for the Winchesters' sake, he'd let it all sort of blur in. But with a bit of effort he pinned it down to... possibly the seventeenth century? Seemed right. The technology and dress looked right. 

So that was the 'where' and the 'when'. But it didn't fully explain 'how' or 'why'. He remembered... he had touched something? He'd been in a room with Cr--

Cas leapt to his feet, alarmed, and looked around. Crowley! Where was he? They had been working a case together and he'd gone and touched something and now he was in the past and _where was his partner_? Anxiety gripped his chest tight like a vice, and a cold sweat broke out over his face. "Crowley?" he called out. "Crowley, where are you?"

"Are you alright?" came a concerned, Scottish burr from somewhere to his right. Cas whirled and came face to face with a shorter man - somewhere in his early fifties - with shockingly intense blue-green eyes, hair and beard that had once been foxfur red but now was streaked with more than a little grey, and a face that was all angles and gaunt. 

"I'm looking for my partner," he explained, holding the man's forearm and pleading with his eyes. "He is... he is this tall, he has short dark hair and whiskey-golden eyes and a voice that purrs and I need to find him."

"You're not from round here, are you?" the man asked.

"No. No I am not."

"You sound - and dress --" the Scotsman frowned. "Mighty fine dress, too. Definitely not local. No one round here has that kind of skill or cloth."

"I'm from--" Cas wanted to tell the truth, but he realised that it might single him out even more than it already had. "Kansas," he decided, at last. It was quicker than working out a real place in the British Isles that he might have to answer questions about.

"Right. Kansas. Somewhere down near London, I reckon. Long way from home. What brings you to Canisbay?"

"I'm... just looking for my partner," Cas said, feeling the dread settle like a lead weight in his belly. Now he was a human - same as Crowley was, wherever and _whenever_ he was - he was more or less helpless to whatever supernatural whimsy had sent him here. "It's very important I find him."

"Alright. Well. You can shout yourself hoarse here, or you can come to the tavern with me and we can talk about when you last saw him or where he might be, and maybe I can ask around and we can try to find him for you?"

"I... yes. Okay. Thank you. I would really appreciate your help with this. I am sorry I am so... out of my depth. This is the first time I have been here, and we always go everywhere together... so I am feeling... I miss him."

"Come with me. I'll look after you. Lost souls like you need all the good Samaritans they can get."

Cas felt a wash of gratitude. It seemed he'd found a kind soul, somehow, even all this far from home. "My name is Castiel," he said.

"And I'm Fergus. Fergus MacLeod."

***

By the time the witches arrived, Crowley had tied the Collector to a chair and ripped his shirt to shreds. His torso was a bloodied mess and pink marks showed where fists had impacted with flesh and would bruise if the body was alive long enough to work through the injuries. The Collector was wheezing after a blow to the diaphragm and Crowley was giving him time to catch his breath before the next round of questions. He couldn't answer if he couldn't breathe.

"What are you doing?" asked Hecuba. "Our arrangement was that he would come to no harm. You agreed to this when we offered our assistance. You _know_ our ways, Crowley. It is why we permitted your presence in our coven."

"He has Cas," Crowley snarled. "He touched... _that_ after Chuckles here was trying to get to it, and then Cas vanished. He won't tell me where he's gone or how to get him back."

"Violence is not the solution," the witch argued. 

"Sometimes it is. Sometimes you have to--" he waved the knife, covered in blood, "--break a few skulls. Especially when devious little _shits_ kidnap and potentially murder your..." he hesitated over the next word, tongue sneaking out over his lips. Partner? Colleague? Lover? All of the above and more? Reason you were still alive? Person who dragged you from rock bottom and gave you a purpose and a reason to live and love? Friend?

Hecuba put her hand on his, trying to ease the knife from his grasp. "Do no harm," she reminded him. "You came to prevent harm, Crowley. It is your goal, remember? If you resort to violence, then you are no better than those you hunt."

"I tried that, once. It didn't work out for me so well."

"You have to keep trying," she insisted, pulling the knife away despite his best wishes. 

Crowley frowned at her. "I want - I **need** \- to find him."

"I know. But we will do this the right way. The universe has a memory for sin and harm. No matter the purity of your desire, if you do not do it with the consent of the universe then it is a violation, all the same."

Yes, he thought. It is. But when it came to Castiel... Crowley would likely damn himself a second time over, just to see him safe.

"Alright."

"Now. Show me this stone... perhaps I will be able to help you find your Castiel."

***

Cas followed Fergus to the small, dark tavern and they took a place off to one corner, sitting at a low table. The wood was stained with years of food and drink spilt atop it, and there were messages etched into the surface with a hundred different knives. Cas found it utterly intriguing and he kept running his fingers through the grooves. It spoke of so many years of drunken revelry and confession, and he wondered what things had been decided here over lukewarm ales, watered-down stews and stale hunks of bread.

"Well, with your description, I am sure that Hamish will be able to find him. If he comes anywhere in Canisbay or nearby then either he'll come here for a drink, or someone who has seen him will. He'll also need a place to stay, and there's nowhere better than here."

"Oh. I suppose I will also need a place to stay," Cas realised. "I... have nothing but my coin and my clothes."

Fergus frowned at him, and Cas could see he was considering something.

"You know... I have a spare room. My lad... he's never home. Always off on the ships, trying to make his fortune. Should have found a wife by now, but there's no convincing him. It's... it's nothing special. My lass can't cook well, but it's food. And I'd not take half as much coin from you as Hamish..."

Cas smiled. "Thank you. If you can fit me in, that would be perfect."

"Well then. That's settled. Now... we could go back to mine and face the wrath of Aileen, or... we could stay here for a few pints afore? Then you can tell me all about where you got such a fine coat. The craftsmanship is incredible. I'd love to examine it. Maybe take a few hints for my own work."

"You're a tailor?"

"Aye. For what it's worth. No real call for anything but work-wear round these parts, but if I could make something worthy of a Laird..."

"I knew a tailor, once."

"You did?"

"Yes. He had wonderful fashion taste. He was also one of the best men I ever knew." Cas ran his finger through another score-mark, lost in the memory of Crowley's fine clothes. 

"And what is your business, if you don't mind me asking? Or are you landed? With the coin you have... I can imagine you have a small holding and title."

"Oh... yes. I suppose you could call it that. I'm a Hunter."

"Ah... of course. With hounds and horses?"

"Usually just on foot."

"Game birds?" Fergus looked confused. "You'll have to explain to me. The ways of the nobles are beyond my ken."

***

"It is one of the great stones of power," Hecuba explained, using part of her voluminous purple velvet skirt to pick it up and hold it out. "Can't you feel the magic?"

Crowley peered at it, his eyes drawn to the surface, to the things just below. The closer he got, the more he could feel the spark, the static tension that arced between the stone and anything living within reach. He found his hand lifting, but years of magical practice somehow made him stop and grab his right wrist with his left hand, tugging it back down. Reluctantly his eyes lifted to hers.

"Yes. Yes I can. What does it do?"

"It gives you what you most desire. But it is old magic. Powerful magic. The kind that gives you what you feel you want... but perhaps not what you _need_."

"Erised," Crowley said with a shake of his head. Oh, he knew old magic. The magic of djinns. The magic of _deals_. Be careful what you wish for. "So Cas is where he deep down most wants to be."

It sort of stung that it wasn't right here, with him. But Crowley was no fool. For all they had been a good couple, a good pair... Castiel had been an angel, once. A seraph. It would make sense for him to want his wings back. Crowley looked away in resignation. He couldn't blame him. Not one bit. Being an angel - immortal, undying, filled with Grace and light - how could life as a human with an ex-demon be any better?

"Will you go after him?"

"He's... he's probably happier wherever he's gone."

"But are you?"

Of course not.

***

"...it's just... it's never been the same. Since Aileen lost the bairn. We'd tried so hard for a second one. A little girl. She'd always wanted a little girl. But when we lost the baby it broke her."

Cas reached out and put his hand over Fergus'. The man was clearly distraught. It had turned from an awkward but interesting conversation where Cas tried to explain his day job without mentioning the occult or anything anachronistic to talking about why Fergus was spending his nights in the tavern instead of at home.

"I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. It was..." Fergus laughed. "She said it was God. I don't believe in God. No God would do that to a woman like Aileen. She was the fiercest, loveliest woman you ever could meet. But it destroyed her. And when she couldn't catch again..."

He fell silent, and Cas' heart ached in sympathy. "God gave you a son. The fact that your other child died doesn't mean--"

"I don't care. He broke her heart. She was never the same again. Never the woman I married."

"She is hurting, Fergus. And she needs you. If you love her as much as you say you do, you have to be strong for her. She probably thinks it is her fault. It is common for women to blame themselves for miscarriages or infertility."

"Why? Why would she do that? It's not her fault! It's no more her fault than mine!"

"Did you ever tell her that?"

"...it... it's not as easy as... you cannae just..."

Cas shook his head firmly. "You must. Love is about communicating your desires and your fears and building a shared life of mutual trust and happiness. You need to speak to her, Fergus. I am sure she still loves you. I am sure all you need to do is be honest with her."

"Laddie..." The tailor looked on the brink of tears, his hands wringing on the table-top. He wanted to shy away, but Cas knew that he had to keep pushing. He was no real expert on love or relationships, but he'd learned a lot through - dating? could you call it that? - Crowley, and he felt honour-bound to pass whatever wisdom he could on.

"I suppose you're right," Fergus said. "Come on. You're coming back wi' me. And I'll take no coin from you. If you can fix me and my wife, then you're welcome under my roof as long as you need a place to call home."

"I'll still pay my way," Cas insisted. "I don't want to see you out of pocket."

"Son, I'd sell my soul if it got me my Aileen back. A bed and broth is nothing in comparison. I'd stitch my fingers to the bone before I saw you pay."

Well. If nothing else, Cas hoped that this strange journey of his would end up with one person benefiting. Even if none of it made any real sense to him at all.

***

"Why would you refuse?" Hecuba asked.

"Because... because Cas is probably better off without me," Crowley admitted, exasperated. They were in her parlour, now. The Collector was off somewhere having justice served or something, but Hecuba had insisted he come with her for tea.

If only she knew how old he really was. The wizened old witch might think she had a few decades on him, to school him like this... but Crowley had been a witch before it was the cool new-agey thing to do. He'd done it back when you could be burnt at the stake for it.

"Nonsense. You and he are wonderful together. I can read it in your auras."

Crowley snorted. "No. That's the pheromones."

"Pheromones look different," she insisted, pouring him a cup of something floral and vile-smelling.

"He... he used to be someone different. We both did. We sort of settled for one another when we lost our... our jobs."

"If you 'settled' for him, why are you trying to give him up? Are you doing it because you think it's the best thing for him, or are you afraid that he might actually choose you if you gave him the freedom to?"

The stupid witch was not going to give up, was she?

"He had his choice. He took it. Whatever he wanted, he's got."

"But how do you know? You know magic. I can smell it on you. You know how these deals work. You know that sometimes what you think you want isn't really what you need..."

"And I'm somehow supposed to work out what the hell I - and he - want? I'm somehow supposed to be smarter than old wish-magic? The most capricious force on any plane?"

"If not you, then who?"

***

"You wait here," Fergus told him, and Cas nodded. He sat by the little hearth which was no longer lit, and examined the modest interior of the house. It was not wealthy, he presumed, but it was not destitute either. It was well kept and it spoke of a pride in appearance and a love of home. He could hear the couple in the room next door. There were raised voices and he thought a few times he could hear crying, but at least they were talking. He knew Fergus cared about his wife a great deal, and he suspected that they had been both hiding from one another for some time now. Guilt and pain had sat heavily on his shoulders, and if it lifted then he had hope for their future together.

He still didn't know how he'd got here, though. Or why.

And then - all of a sudden - his partner appeared looking flustered and confused, and in as terribly period an outfit as his own.

"Cas!"

"Crowley!" The ex-angel bounded to his feet and grabbed hold of him, pulling him in for a hug. They didn't really go in for hugging (Cas would have, but Crowley had never seemed like the type to) but he'd missed him so much that he thought he could risk the ire for once. To his pleasant surprise, Crowley's arms came up and wrapped around him in return and they stayed like that for a moment before - with a noisily cleared throat - Crowley pulled back first.

"I was so worried," Cas explained, pulling him over to the dining table so they could sit down together. "I don't know what happened but I - we - seem to be in ancient Scotland and I don't know _why_ because the last thing I remember was touching that rock, and then I was here... do you know?"

But Crowley was looking like he'd seen a ghost. His hands shook on the chair, and he stared around the little room with growing concern.

"Cas... tell me honestly. Where are we?"

"I met this nice man in town. He offered to help me find you, and then he offered to let me stay while I was looking for you."

"And this nice man was called--"

"Fergus. Fergus MacLeod. He's a tailor, you know. He lives here with his wife. They were having relationship trouble, but I think I might have helped out with that."

"What are you doing here?"

"I... I don't know? I told you. I touched that stone and I found myself in the market. I called out for you and Fergus came over to help me. That's all I know."

"And you... you did... what, precisely?"

Cas was starting to freak out, ever so slightly. Crowley was acting like he'd seen a ghost. "I was just talking to him about his wife and I told him he needed to discuss things with her and not just hide from it all. If he wanted his relationship to work and continue, that he'd have to be strong for Aileen and--"

Crowley collapsed into the chair, all the colour gone from his face.

"Crowley, _what is wrong_?"

But before he could answer, Fergus came out of the bedroom, his arm looped around Aileen's waist. They looked like they both might have been crying, but they were shyly smiling.

"Crowley?" Fergus asked, beaming over at the newcomer. "Castiel's partner?"

"Yes. Yes that's... that's me."

"Hamish must have found you after all! I'm glad you're here. Your friend here... well. He might just have saved my whole life." The Scotsman beamed at them benevolently. "You're both just going to have to stay tonight - unless you have somewhere to go?"

"I--"

"We would love to," Cas interrupted Crowley, who seemed struck dumb. "Thank you."

"I'm going to take my good woman to bed, now. But you two can have Gavin's room. I'm afraid there's just the one bed, and it might not be the standard you're used to, but at least it's four walls and a mattress."

"And you two laddies have my eternal thanks," Aileen added, shyly. She seemed a little embarrassed that they were there for this conversation - or the aftermath anyway - but the way she leaned against Fergus said she was very happy indeed.

"You go sleep," Cas insisted. "We'll be fine. And we'll see you in the morning for breakfast."

"I hope you like porridge..."

***

The bed _was_ narrow. Very narrow. Cas was pressed all along the wall in an effort to give Crowley as much room as possible, because his stubborn lover had insisted that he sleep on the floor if they couldn't make it work. Of course if they'd gone with Castiel's suggestion of top-to-tail (and maybe a little sixty-nine too) it would have worked much better. But Crowley had narrowed his eyes and shook his head no.

Well. Okay. They were guests in this house so perhaps it would be rude to fornicate in their son's bed.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on, or do I need to stage our own relationship intervention?" Cas asked, turning his head in the dark and catching only the outline of Crowley's face, and the slightest glance of moonlight catching the whites of his eyes. "I seem to be getting good at them. Perhaps daytime television is less useless than you originally thought."

"Castiel - you are without a doubt the most... the stone you touched? Stone of power. Wish-granting power. You know. Deepest, darkest desires. And apparently your deepest, darkest desire was to come back and visit me when I was mortal."

"I-- what?"

"Fergus? Plucky guy in the kilt? Town drunk, hated by his son, hated by his wife and perpetual inhabitant of the only tavern in a five-mile radius? You know. The man whose house you're in?"

"That's... you?"

There was a long, slow sigh from beside him and Crowley nodded.

"Oh. _Oh_."

"And you apparently just fixed my broken marriage."

"He - you - were unhappy," Cas said, pointedly. "And he - you - _Fergus_ \- was nice to me. I was just trying to help him out. I felt sorry for him."

"Typical Castiel," Crowley said, sounding fondly exasperated. "Always trying to fix things."

"It's one of my many virtues," Cas said, trying not to sound embarrassed.

"But you do realise you've broken everything?"

"I... what?"

"I sold my soul because I was unhappy, Cas. Because things weren't working out. And judging by the way they both look, it wasn't too far off, either."

"So now you won't!" Cas beamed at him. "And you won't have to go to Hell. And you can be happy."

"...have you never seen _Back to the Future_?" Crowley asked.

"I'm going to say that's probably a 'no'."

"Right. Of course not. Fine... in layman's terms. If you change the past, you change the future. And I mean: really change the future. You step on a butterfly and there's five world wars type thing."

"...so I'm going to start a war?"

"Think this through, Cas. If I - he - never sells his soul, then he never goes to Hell. He never becomes Crowley. Crowley - me that is - never helps the Winchesters and Lucifer is not stopped and literally the world ends. Not to mention _I_ cease to exist. Cease to ever have existed. And I am rather fond of existing."

"Oh."

"Oh indeed."

"So you and I never--"

"Nope."

"Oh."

"Yes. You can see why I am a little peeved?"

"Strange."

"What?"

"That I came here. That I met you - him - and this happened. Obviously I didn't want you to suffer through Hell. That's why the stone brought me here."

Crowley was silent for a long moment, and Cas wondered what he was thinking of. But then his partner leaned over and kissed him on the forehead, lingeringly.

"You sentimental ass," Crowley said, accusingly. "What's done is done. Although it is... nice to know you think about me."

"I think about you all the time," Cas countered. "Are you angry with me?"

"No. Just... frustrated I didn't get here sooner."

"Oh."

"You do realise what we're going to have to do, right?"

"...no? Time-travel is not my forte. I could send people back, but I never went myself. And I really don't understand the physics or logic of it."

"Well, to prevent the end of all life on Earth and the rise and success of Lucifer... all I can think is that we have to find a way to either stop you having come here in the first place, or secondly we're going to have to convince Fergus to sell his soul for the exact same thing anyway. Or risk unmaking the universe."

"Crowley! We can't do that!"

"Why not?"

"Because... because! How could you think convincing someone to sell their immortal soul is good?"

"Hello? King of the Crossroads? Or... was, anyway. It was kind of - you know - my job for the better part of several centuries?"

"But not any more," Cas pouted. "And it's wrong. It's immoral. And - Crowley! It's not nice! Why would you convince yourself to sell your own soul, considering you know precisely what happened afterwards!"

"Because it didn't end that badly for me, all things considered," the ex-demon sniped back. "And because I _like_ the world existing. And because I had my choice and I made it. And you just shouldn't mess about with the past."

"I can't... I can't ruin your life!"

"Then you're just going to have to let me ruin it, aren't you? It's my own life. I should still have the opportunity to make my own decisions."

"But--"

"No buts, Cas. I've got to fix this mess. I've got to. Or else I might simply stop existing."

Cas whimpered, and curled up tight to Crowley's chest. His partner put a hand on his side - reassuringly - but Cas still felt like the worst person ever to have lived.

And he still wasn't sure he was even wrong.

Or right.

It was all much too confusing.

***

Come the morning, Cas had barely slept. Crowley had held him all through the night and although the other man had barely stirred or made a sound, he was sure Crowley had had as rough a night of it as he had. There were dark circles under his lover's eyes, and his mouth was set in that tight, pained line it had whenever there was something bad going on.

"Come on," Crowley said, stirring the arm underneath him in an attempt to get him to move. "We were promised breakfast. I can tell you now it will be the worst thing you've ever tasted, but it's better than starving. Marginally."

On a wave of compulsion, Cas surged up and grabbed Crowley's face. He pressed his lips to his, kissing slow and lovingly. His stupid, stupid boyfriend. So intent on ruining his past self's life, on the off chance that he was essential to the saving of the planet and also to Castiel's life.

He was, of course. Cas didn't want to imagine a life without him. For all their relationship hadn't always been easy or simple... it brought him joy. Great joy. And he just was not prepared to give that up. But nor was he prepared to let Crowley throw his immortal soul into the pit just for this, either.

"We'll work out a way to make this work," he insisted.

"I don't see how we can."

"Why don't we go off for the day to think about it? We don't have to do anything just yet."

"No... but soon. The more we delay it, the more damage we do to history. The greater the chance the world will end."

Cas sighed heavily. He was sure this was all hideously immoral. How could he condone Crowley ruining his own past self's life? Surely when they died as mortals, being party to such a sin would condemn then both to eternal torment? No one who encouraged the selling of a soul could ever be bound for the other place.

"Look. We'll go for a walk. I'll show you all the sights of my misguided youth, and we can talk about it rationally. I know you're not in favour of it, but it's just something that has to happen because it already did. Believe you me, if I could avoid all the hellfire? That would be nice. But... I'm not ready to sign my whole life off as pointless just yet, Cas. I can't."

"I wasn't saying that," Cas said, pouting.

"I know you weren't."

So they made their excuses and agreed to come back that night, and they left to walk out to the sea-front. It was a fair trek and they spent most of it in silence. Cas didn't like it, but he didn't know what to say.

The area was beautiful, though. In a rugged, gritty sort of way. When they got away from the populated areas it was all craggy faces covered in straggling heather and thistle. Livestock lowed quietly in the fields, and then they were almost as far north as it was possible to get on this little island. Cas stared at the choppy blue water with interest. Ever since that fish had climbed out and made its first, wobbly steps... he'd had a fondness for places where land met sea.

Castiel breathed in the salt air, letting it hit the back of his throat. It was good. This was a nice place.

"Why did you do it?" he asked, at last. He figured Crowley owed him the answer, if they were going to retroactively ensure the future carried on as it had. "Why sell your immortal soul? You had to know when the demon came that it was legitimate. I don't see how anyone who didn't already know they were going to Hell would do it. Even then - there's always hope for redemption. Always."

"Aileen... when we lost the bairn... when we lost our little girl, it hit her hard. She resented me, I think. And I couldn't bear to look at her or touch her for fear of remembering what it had felt like. You... you'll never know, Cas. Kids? They change you."

"No. I suppose I won't. Being a parent seems to be very involved. If you do it correctly."

"Yeah. Well. We tried with Gavin but there's no some working with some people. And he was one of those... no matter what we did, it was never good enough? Ungrateful little shit. My life was easier without him, you know."

"Do you regret having him?"

"Would you think I was a horrible person if I said 'yes'?"

Cas didn't answer that. It was tricky. All life was sacred, of course, and as an angel he'd loved everyone. Even the sinners. But he could see how you might wish things to be different, once you'd lived through them. And having a preference for a life without your son paled into comparison to some of the things he knew Crowley had done over his years as a demon.

Crowley sat down on the cliff-edge, his legs dangling over and kicking idly in the stirring wind. Cas watched as his partner's fingers wound into the coarse grass, and his heart ached for him. This was home. This _had_ been home. A long time ago. He wasn't sure how much of his mortal life Crowley remembered, but he was willing to bet it was a lot.

Cas sat beside him.

"We have to find some way to break them up," Crowley said, not meeting his eyes. "I sold my soul for ten more years of happiness with her. Like it used to be. I sold my soul because... because I missed her. Because it was destroying me being in a loveless marriage. Because my son hated me, I was growing old, I'd made nothing of myself and I wanted... I just wanted to be happy for the last few years on the planet. I was a witch, remember? Or my mam was. And I... I thought I was going to Hell anyway, because I didn't believe in God. So if Heaven did exist..."

"How could you believe in Hell but not in God?"

"How could you believe in God if he broke your wife with a child he killed?"

"Crowley..."

"Look. What's done is done. It happened. I did it. I suffered for a while, then I became good at my new job and then I took over Hell and then I became human again. That's the story. That _has_ to be the story. And it's the only way I can continue to exist."

"We've already changed things."

"We can change them back."

"I am not letting you ruin your past self's life. Or hers. You can't go around taking her free will from her. Her love should be her gift, not your prize."

"She loved me once. I thought. It's just... tweaking things. And really? You still refuse? Even if that murders _me_? He's still me, Cas. One of me. One of many mes, to be fair, over the years. But I remember being Fergus. I remember making the deal. I remember the hounds of Hell coming for me. And really? I wouldn't change any of it. I... I'm _happy_ , and I don't think it's fair of you to presume to make decisions for me. It's my damned life, and if I want to go to Hell and back then you should let me."

"You really think if we asked him now, he would agree to decades of torture and despair? On the chance he might eventually be cured? Who would wish for that?"

"You ignorant swine," Crowley spat, pushing himself to his feet and glowering. 

"I don't understand," Cas pleaded. "I don't understand why you would choose the life you had."

"Because it **hasn't all been bad**. You ever think why I turned up here?"

"I... no. No I didn't."

"You came here," the ex-demon went on, his cheeks flushing with mixed rage and... something else. "You came here because you didn't want to see me hurt. Because you wished you'd saved me from damnation. I came here... because you were here."

"Oh."

"Yes. Oh."

"So you..."

"Yes."

Cas stared up at Crowley, who continued to stare down. Then his partner clearly gave up, because he threw his shoulders up with a huff and carried on walking up the cliffside.

Castiel didn't know what to do with that. Apparently what Crowley wanted most in the world? Was him.

***

The compromise they'd finally agreed on was sitting Fergus down in the tavern and buying him several pints. The three of them were drinking (but Fergus more than either of them) and talking nonsense until the two time-travellers were convinced he was relaxed and merry enough.

"The truth is," Cas said, when Crowley kicked him under the table enough times. "I'm an angel. And... and Crowley here is you from the future."

Fergus laughed throatily, and shook his head in bemusement. "Aye. And I'm the chief tailor to Queen Anne herself."

"It's true," Crowley said. "I know everything that happened to you. I know about the way you skimped on Nancy McTavish's taffeta skirt. I know about the time you scrumped apples from Old Man Will. And I know what you used to think about when you looked at the bonnie lad who--"

"Witchcraft!" Fergus hissed, pulling his tankard to him. "You're a he-witch."

"Takes one to know one," Crowley agreed.

"I would... I have never..."

"You've been tempted. Don't lie to me. You're only lying to yourself."

"Crowley," Cas interjected. "Please don't worry him."

"He needs it," Crowley huffed. "He needs to know we're telling the truth. Fergus... the fate of the world hangs in the balance. Cas here fluffed things up by coming back in time and trying to save you and Aileen. But the truth is... you need to sell your soul to a demon. For ten years of her love, you have to sell your soul. If you don't, then Satan himself may take over and start the Apocalypse, and _I_ will no longer exist."

"But Aileen and I are--"

"I know." The ex-demon sighed. "But trust me on this. In the long-run, it's better."

"And what if I say no?"

"You can't. You won't. You already said yes. You just have to do it again. Or the first time. Something. Time-travel makes discussions more difficult. If it was common place then--"

But Crowley didn't get a chance to finish, because Fergus had run outside.

"Well, that went better than I hoped," Crowley drawled and went back to his pint.

***

"How can he... how can he even _say_ that?" Fergus whined. He was sitting on the same bench they'd met by, his head in his hands and his whole body slumped. "Hell? Damnation? How could that save anything? It's trickery. Devilry. Nothing more. It's Old Scratch himself come to try and tempt me."

In a way, it was true. Crowley _had_ been both the King of the Crossroads and then the King of Hell. So Fergus was more accurate in his assumption than he might suspect. But it was more complicated than that.

"He... he is telling the truth. About the end of the world. Crowley - you - were often instrumental in keeping Lucifer at bay." It was only a minor lie of omission to ignore the fact that at the time Crowley had been a self-serving demon. "And I know him very well. He's... he's a better man than he thinks."

"But my _soul_ , Castiel. If you're the angel he says you are..."

"I... will admit I did not feel comfortable asking this. But it is true, you did - he did - do it. But things... got better. He's... he has his soul back, now. He chose that, too. He's... he's perhaps the most complicated but wonderful man I've ever known."

"I just don't think he's me," Fergus admitted. "I can't... I can't think of agreeing to go through with what he wants. Not when there's no need for it. Maybe if you'd asked me a week hence... or even two days ago..."

"I understand."

"You do?"

"I told him I wasn't comfortable asking this of you."

"Then... what?"

"I really don't know. I've never time-travelled myself before, and this is powerful magic. I don't know what the world will be, now that I have changed everything. And I am afraid."

***

When they went back into the tavern, Crowley was gone. Hamish told them he'd left not long since with a face full of purpose and more than enough coin to cover their time. Cas frowned. 

"This is not good," he murmured. "Not good at all."

"What?" Fergus was wringing his hands. "What will he do?"

"He's you," Cas sighed. "Can't you work it out?"

"...he's a me I don't understand. I think too much has happened for me to know what he's thinking. You know him better than me."

"We have to get back to your house. Now."

***

"All those years," Crowley said. "All those years of torment, and all it took was one bull-headed angel to sit me down over a pint and tell me to _talk_ to you. You hated me. You _hated_ me. I was sure of it. I sold my soul for a decade more of how we used to be. And all I needed to do was... _talk_?"

"Mr. Crowley, you are worrying me," Aileen said, backing away from him. "Please. Please... whatever you want, take it. Only leave me and my family in peace."

"He loves you so much he sells his soul," Crowley growled at her. "Do you know that? Do you know what that _means_?"

Aileen was crying, now. She was shaking and walking around the table, trying to keep it between them at all times. "He doesn't have tae. I love him. I always loved him. I always _will_."

"Then why did it feel like you hated me?"

"I--"

"Why did Fergus think you wished he was dead? Why did he spend nights staring at the dark ceiling, listening to you breathing, and _aching_ from how much he missed you?"

"Please, Mr. Crowley... I don't know..."

"Well. He's going to sell his soul one way or another." Crowley drew the knife from the rack, brandishing it between them. "It has to be. I'm sorry, my love. I'm sorry I ever doubted you. I'm sorry I thought the only way for us to be happy was for me to take away your free will."

He closed the distance between them and thrust the blade between her ribs. She cried out in agony, and his arms wrapped around her, bloodied hands stroking through her hair.

She had loved him all along. He'd never needed to do any of this. 

Crowley wept into her fading blonde hair.

***

"What have you DONE?" Fergus screamed, running in and tearing Crowley free from his wife. "Aileen! My life... oh what have you done?"

Castiel stared in shock. The woman was bleeding profusely from a knife-wound, and Crowley was standing where he'd been put. His hands were covered in her blood, as was his fine suit. Below them, Fergus was cradling the injured woman. She looked pale and on the brink of death.

"Crowley!"

"It was the only way," Crowley insisted. "She was always going to be the only reason he did it. He - I - loved nothing else, back then. This way he can save her, and he can make a deal that at the end of it, he forgets all of this and only remembers what I remember happening."

"You monster!" Fergus hissed from the floor.

"Yes. Yes I am," Crowley agreed. "You will be, too. But sometimes the world needs monsters. Sometimes it needs people like me."

"I hope you _rot for eternity_ ," Fergus spat at him. "I hope every day is agony. Every day torture. I hope you're never satisfied."

"For the longest time, that was true," Crowley confessed, a little reluctantly. "I thought she had stopped loving me. Turns out I was wrong all along. And I was a fool. But it still has to happen, and if I damn myself a second time for a chance at a brief period of happiness? Then I'll do it."

"How can you be happy? You've killed _my wife_."

"Not if you make the right deal," Crowley said. "I can go with you. I can make sure it's everything you want and need. I can make this right."

"How?"

"Just... trust me and come with me to the crossroads. There's something I need to show you."

Fergus looked down at his wife who was fading fast, then up at Castiel.

"I will stay with her," Cas promised. He still looked horror-struck. But she was dying and his heart ached for them all. He was beginning to wish he'd never touched that stone at all. Had never tried to interfere with Crowley's past. And really... wasn't Crowley right, too? Hadn't he interfered and taken the real choice from him? It was all too complicated to understand.

He dropped to his knees and took the dying woman, holding her carefully and putting his hand over the wound. Her eyes flickered, but they didn't open, and she didn't say a word. "Go."

***

"I know you hate me," Crowley said, as they finishing digging the hole for the spell-box. "But it will all make sense. It won't for the longest time, but then it will. And you'll make the exact same decision I did."

"I won't."

"You will. Because you love him."

"...what?"

"That angel. The one with m-- _our_ wife. You'll fall in love with him, as much as you loved Aileen. You'll lie to yourself about it for the longest time, but he'll be the saviour of you."

"But he's--"

"The future is much more forgiving, you know. Or. It's getting there. You're going to see a lot of new things, and falling for an angel is going to be just one of many."

"But I love Aileen," Fergus protested.

"Yes. Yes we do. But you'll love Castiel, too. Not more or less. Just... different. Enough to damn yourself all over again, if need be."

Like attempted murder. And coercion of people into selling their souls. And God only knew what else he'd do if he had to. But he would. He'd do them all.

"You're insane," Fergus insisted.

"Yes. I probably am. I've never been sensible in my love-life, as you well know. But you can't fault me for having the best intentions."

"I hope to Hell I learn my lesson this time."

***

"...and so you will cure Aileen and ensure neither Fergus nor she fall sick for the duration of the contract. In addition, at the closing of the contract you will alter Fergus' memory so he does not remember either me or my companion, and he is convinced that he sold his soul for Aileen to love him again. Oh. And you'll whack another three inches below the belt... just because."

"You know normally I only contract with the party in question," Lilith said, sounding amused. "It is not customary for there to be an advocate present to oversee the terms and conditions."

Fergus shrugged. "I'm not ordinary," he said. "And my friend here is an expert in contract law."

"Why would you want to change your memory?" the demon asked, pacing around them like a hungry wolf.

"That's my own business," Fergus insisted. "But it's non-negotiable. I want everything he listed, or you can't have my soul."

"Alright. I can work with those terms. Although one day you're going to tell me why..." she said, running a finger over his neck.

"No. No he won't," Crowley insisted, his voice firm but fair. "And you won't ask him. Now write up the contract..."

"You don't want to make a deal too, darling?" Lilith let go of the human and paced closer to Crowley. "Big, strapping man like you..." her fingers brushing over his chest. "You're... _delightfully_ twisted inside. And you smell of blood. You're coming down one way or another, why not make it a good ride?"

"Not today," he said, with a firm shake of his head.

"Alright. But I think I'll be seeing you sooner than you think," she purred. "Now... this deal..."

***

When they got back, Aileen was sitting at the table with Castiel. She looked healthy and pink in the face, and for all her clothes were bloodied and torn she seemed to be healed. The once-angel had his hands over hers, and there were two cups of tea going cold beside them.

"Aileen!" Fergus called out, the relief in his voice plain. "My love..."

She was on her feet in a heartbeat, and the two embraced tightly. Fergus' hands in her hair and they hugged like the world would end if they stopped.

Castiel smiled sadly up at them. Crowley had been an idiot not to notice how much she cared. A real, complete fool.

"Come on," Crowley called from the doorway. "I think we've outstayed our welcome. And I know they have a lot to catch up on."

Cas nodded. He caught Fergus' eyes and they stared at one another for a long time. There was something curious, there. Something confused and shy and wondering. Cas felt like the man was peering right into his very core, and it made him shudder under the gaze. Whatever had happened, something was different. 

"I'm sorry," he said, quietly. But he didn't want to ruin their lives any more, so he went to leave with Crowley.

It was dark and it was late, and Cas had no idea where they were going to go now, or how they got home. He couldn't stay, though. Not after what they'd done to them. So he followed Crowley as they walked. He couldn't work out where they were going, but he trusted him all the same.

"I'm sorry," Crowley said, when they were far enough away from the flickering lights of civilisation that only moonlight lit their way.

"Why are you apologising to me?"

"You... you wanted to fix me, and I didn't want it."

"It's a little more complicated than that."

"I suppose. I... believe me I _hated_ doing that to them. But at least now they get ten years together of actual, honest love. And then he forgets it, and he becomes the me I was all along. But they have that. They have ten years. It's more than most."

"I still don't understand how you'd choose to condemn yourself all over again. It makes no sense to me, Crowley. It makes no sense at all."

"I never do, when I'm in love," Crowley confessed. "He sold his soul for Aileen. And I... damned mine for you. You did save me. You saved me in that dungeon, when you came to offer me the chance to be cured. You fixed me then, and you didn't need to come back and do it from the beginning again. Even if I appreciate the sentiment. Truly."

Cas didn't know what to say to that, so he reached over and took Crowley's hand.

"...and then I went and damned myself anyway, by almost killing the first love of my life, in order to be with you. So I guess it was all pointless anyway."

"No. Not pointless."

Crowley turned, frowning. "No?"

"You can always beg forgiveness," Cas pointed out. "And if you truly repent..."

"How can I repent, if I'd sell my soul a thousand times for loving you?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "But you sold it for her, and you got a second chance. Perhaps there are more chances available to us than we first thought."

"You're walking proof of that. I hope to Hell you're right."

"Me too. Also... how do we get home?"

Crowley laughed. "Buggered if I know. I was hoping when we fixed everything that we'd just..." his fingers snapped. 

And then all of a sudden they were standing in Hecuba's sitting room, in the dark, with the stone on the table before them glowing gently.

"Well, I'll be..." the ex-demon murmured.

"I suppose it worked."

"Must have. But I think there's one more wish we need to make."

"Oh?"

"C'mon Cas. Something that powerful? Something strong enough to unmake the world? We can't leave it lying around. We have to want it somewhere safe and away from people."

Cas stared at it. It was true. It was dangerous. Tempting, too. How many people would resist the chance to try and outwit it? How many people would be able to refuse the option to get what they thought they wanted? It had nearly destroyed Crowley, and all for what? A desire to do good. To save.

"You're right," he said, reluctantly. "But I'm not sure I can wish for that. I don't know that I... would be able to."

"You need someone who has everything they want to do that," came the voice from the doorway. "Not an easy task to find."

Cas turned and saw Hecuba smiling at them. Her old face was lined but warm. "It is good to see you again," she told them both.

"Can you do it?" Crowley asked. "Can you wish it away?"

She shook her head sadly. "I'm afraid not. Even someone who tries their best like me will never be able to overpower the pull of _desire_."

Cas jumped. "Crowley can do it."

"What? Angel... I think you're sadly deluded. If you haven't noticed, I--"

"Sold your soul for the woman you loved, and then the only thing you wanted to make yourself complete was me," Cas cut in. "And now you have me. And I love you. Even if you do make dubious life-choices."

"That's not all I want," Crowley argued. "I want all sorts of things I shouldn't have."

"No. You want love. And now you know Aileen always loved you, and me too. You have what you need. You can do it."

"Cas, I--"

Castiel grabbed hold of the tablecloth and the stone in the middle of it, and he threw it at Crowley. 

Despite himself, the demon's hand came up to defend his face from falling rocks, but when it hit his palm it vanished.

And Crowley did not.

"You idiot! You absolute idiot! What were you thinking? Are you so intent on destroying the world that you--"

And then Crowley realised the stone was gone.

Cas smirked.

"No. I just have faith in you."

"A bigger fool have I never met."

"You should look in a mirror, sometimes, demon-spawn."

"Idiotic angel."

"Gentlemen," Hecuba cut in, walking into the room. "If you would forgive me, it is quite late and it has been a long day. I know you both must be tired, too. I have a guestroom down the corridor, and I think that you've earned a night off. Don't you?"

"That would be lovely," Cas agreed, smiling at her. "Thank you."

"Please let me show you where it is. Then in the morning we can start work on making the Collector's _other_ weapons safe."

"I swear, if you rub your face on any more magical artefacts without checking with a grownup first, Cas..."

"I've learned my lesson, Crowley. Believe me. I won't rub my face into anything without your prior permission."

The angel was going to be the death of him. Truly he was.

"Tomorrow, Cas. Tomorrow."

Heaven only knew how long this new task would take them.

At least it kept them busy.


End file.
